Bob's Excellent Adventure of Doom!
by MadnessJones
Summary: Table-headed service drone Bob survived yelling at the Tallests, almost burning up in a star, and Zim. He decided to search for his place in the universe. Instead he found...The Resisty? No pairings.
1. The Dwarf Star

_Author's Notes: Why do I ever say I'll only write one fic in a fandom? I really didn't plan to dive head-first into Invader Zim, but it happened, and now I have ideas popping up all over the place like angry plot bats. This is one of those ideas, and if the opening chapter means anything then this should be good. Hopefully. Anyway, since I have a tendency to overthink minor characters in everything I watch, I got to wondering what would've happened if Bob survived the episode "Hobo 13", and then this idea was born. Hope you guys will like it, and thanks for checking it out :)_

* * *

Chapter 1

The Dwarf Star

It was getting hotter in the voot cruiser, and the star approached closer into view. Only now did the little Irken invader wannabe known as Zim figure out something was wrong with the controls of his ship. He could've been warned sooner, but the only other passenger, table-headed service drone Bob, was taped to the back of Zim's chair and unable to escape. How Zim never noticed him there Bob didn't know, but that oversight would cost them their lives.

Bob was terrified of dying, but part of him had to admit this was a more exciting death than he ever expected to have. In fact, everything about this experience seemed so surreal.

It had all started at the bar where Bob worked. Well, technically it started long before then.

When Bob was born he was smaller than other smeets, and he had a physical defect that was rare in the worst way. Most defects were grounds for termination, but fortunately Bob's didn't affect his ability to work; only the job that would be programmed into his PAK. Because he had a flat head and his antennae didn't feel the environment as sensitively as they should he was doomed to life as a living food service tray. He simply wasn't qualified for anything else according to the control brains.

Of course that was start of his career, but the beginning of the end happened only last cycle.

He had been in the kitchen getting drink refills when another food service drone (a normal looking one) came into the kitchen with an excited look on his face. Last time that happened they had gotten a glowing review from a local food critic. Maybe the health inspection went flawlessly this time or something.

"Hey guys, you'll never guess who walked into the bar!" The other waiter exclaimed, "The Almighty Tallest! They're actually in _our_ _bar_!"

"Really? That's amazing!" Another drone replied with just as much enthusiasm, "Everyone will want to come here after they find out about this!"

Bob was happy his coworkers were happy, but the truth was he couldn't care less. He knew the leaders of Irk were tall and powerful, but the truth was he just didn't get starstruck like other Irkens did. He had his job, his tiny dark sleeping hole in the basement of the restaurant, his head-table, and the 5 monies every two years he earned from his manual labor. He wasn't exactly happy, but he knew kissing up to more powerful Irkens wasn't going to change his miserable lot in life, so why bother?

"Hey Bob, _get out here now_!" His supervisor yelled impatiently, "Table 5 wants more soda!"

"Yes, sir," Bob called out in his dull beleaguered voice.

He strapped on his table and placed the drinks on top with a deftness that came with experience. Many others would spill the drinks or trip due to the shackles that held the table in place, but Bob had been doing this since he was hatched. Part of him felt a twisted sense of pride at his ability to work with his tray as if it were an extension of his own body. He'd like to see the Almighty Tallests try to do _that_.

The shift went on for another half hour without incident. The customers reveled in their sodas and salty snacks, and the food service drones went about their business serving them. At one point the Tallest turned off the sports game to take a call from some invader or another, but nobody dared to complain lest they invoke the wrath of their leaders. Bob thought nothing of it. After all, he was too short and lowly in programming to be noticed by two beings with such elevated stature. In a way he felt protected by his anonymity.

Then...it happened.

Zim, the Irken Empire's most notorious exiled invader, was going to Hobo 13 to be trained. Well, more like executed horribly, but Zim didn't know that. It had all started with a few playful bets. Each customer delighted not only in the game of chance to guess how Zim would die, but also in being involved in this game with their Tallests. Bob simply walked around with his table trying to do his job, but then Tallest Red pointed directly down at him, and his world seemed to slow down.

"You! Table-headed service drone Bob. You'll bet 500,000 monies on Zim succeeding," Red ordered Bob in a voice that sounded casual yet commanding.

"But, I only make 5 monies every two years," Bob tried to explain, but his voice sounded so small and timid and he wasn't even sure they heard him.

"500,000 for Zim!" Tallest Purple confirmed, and the crowd cheered.

Bob couldn't believe this was happening. He would never be able to pay that many monies back, and there was no way Zim could survive. The whole point of this trip to Hobo 13 was for Zim to die. It was the will of the Tallests. Bob would probably be thrown in a debtor's prison or shot out of a cannon for not paying back his massive debt.

Not knowing what else to do, Bob's knees buckled a little and he began to cry silent tears. He didn't fall, thankfully the table kept him from doing that, but he couldn't stop himself from crying. Fortunately no one was paying attention to Bob. No one ever paid attention to a tiny flat-headed service drone like him.

* * *

The broadcast went on for some time. Bob noticed most of the customers were so involved with the feed of Hobo 13 that they weren't ordering drinks. Bob's supervisor was a little peeved by this, but Bob was grateful for a moment to go back into the kitchen and breathe. His hopes and dreams depended on the insane defect that had been banished to the backwash of the galaxy, and he had no control over his own life anymore. Bob didn't even gamble! When would he ever have monies to gamble with anyway? This just wasn't fair!

Bob had used his down time to cut up an old green tablecloth to make a little flag that said GO ZIM on it. He knew it was futile, but he really, _really_ wanted that former invader to prove them all wrong and keep him from going to airlock-prison or wherever debtors to the Tallests go.

When Bob's break ended he was forced to go back out there, out to face the crowd and the screen with that desert boot camp displayed on it. He attached his little flag to the table and placed an order of nachos on there as well. Might as well face his destiny head-on.

When he got out there he served the nachos to the awaiting customer, who ' _accidentally_ ' spilled the rest of his drink at the drone's feet and caused him to almost fall over. Customers were always abusing Bob that way. They felt that because he was a defect it was perfectly alright to torment him and make fun of him. He hated it. He hated his job and he hated what life had programmed him for. He wanted better, but he knew he would never get it, especially not now.

Then, as he stood below the Tallests awaiting their next order, something amazing happened. Zim _won_. He was actually winning! Invader Zim was defeating the trials and succeeding!

Bob quickly took a calculator out of his PAK and entered the odds to determine how many monies he would get if Zim pulled through. _6 million._ Bob could hardly believe it! He would get 6 million monies if Zim passed every obstacle. He would be as rich as a tall Irken! He could live anywhere he wanted, and he would never have to work another day in his life.

"Uh, Bobby?" Tallest Purple called down to him in a condescending voice while shaking his empty cup, "It appears I need a refill."

"Argh! Get it yourself!" Bob snapped, actually _snapped_ , at the Tallest.

The Tallests were too stunned to yell back at him. They merely looked back at each in bewilderment. Bob didn't care. He was either going to be rich or going to go to a debtor's airlock-prison-angry beehive. Either way the Tallests no longer had the power to threaten him...or so he thought.

* * *

Bob couldn't help but look back on what a fool he'd been. Of course the Tallests would never honor their debt to a mere food service drone, especially one as imperfect and unimportant as he was. When Zim succeeded Bob was sure his worries were over, and had quit his job on the spot as he threw his table on the ground in a huff.

Looking back, Bob wondered if it was actually the monies that sealed his fate or the fact that he was so disrespectful to the Tallests. Looking at it that way, he figured he probably deserved to fry in a dwarf star. No Irken ever questioned or yelled at the Tallest. _Ever_. Bob really _was_ a defect.

Just as Bob was lamenting his life and trying his best to not be afraid of death, another miracle happened to him for the second time that week. The ship turned away from the star.

"Finally, found the problem!" Zim exclaimed in triumph. For some reason Zim had been talking to himself the entire trip, "For some reason the navigation relay was missing. Good thing I had a spare in my PAK. Now I can take this _beautiful_ ship back to earth and cannibalize it for parts. Then I will create a super weapon to- Wait, _no_ , I should wait for that bag of tanks the Tallest promised me! Yes, I will have _victory over all! I am ZIM!_ "

Earth? The planet that was 75% acid water? Bob began to sob at the prospect of going to such a disgusting death trap. Even his crummy serving table job was better than that! He was going to burn _and_ drown!

"Huh?" Zim grunted; having heard Bob's loud crying, " _Who's in here_!? Who _dares_ invade the ship of _ZIM_?"

Zim got up and looked around shiftily, finally seeing Bob tied up behind the seat. Bob stared wide eyed at the crazed invader. Zim might've been a joke so the powerful elites, but to a civilian like Bob that had just seen Zim fight and manipulate his way through a boot camp, he was utterly terrifying. Zim was trained as an invader, he had killed two previous Tallests, and had nearly decimated their own home planet. In short, he was the closest equivalent to a serial terrorist an Irken could imagine, and he had just discovered Bob in his ship.

"Who are you!?" Zim demanded to know as he pointed an accusing claw at the tied up drone.

"Mmf, mfmph, hmph!" Bob tried to speak, but his mouth was taped up.

Zim stomped up to Bob and violently ripped the tape off his mouth. Bob yelped in pain, and then tried to collect himself so he could speak to Zim without sounding like a complete wuss.

"What is the meaning of this!? Who are you? _Answer Zim_!" Zim interrogated the hapless smaller Irken.

"I'm...I'm…" Bob was going to tell the truth, but telling an invader, even one as mad as Zim, that he insulted the Tallests was suicide, "I'm lost. I thought this was a different ship. I'm sorry, sir."

"Get out!" Zim shouted as he pointed to the door.

"But...I'm still tied up, and we're in space," Bob objected, but he knew he sounded more like he was whining.

Zim used one of his PAK legs to cut the bindings around Bob, and then fixed him with a hard glare. To be fair, almost getting burned up in a sun after surviving Hobo 13 would put anyone in a sour mood. Bob could understand Zim being suspicious of a stranger, even one as harmless looking as him.

"Get out," Zim hissed in a quiet tone that was somehow scarier than his yelling.

"Um, should I take an escape pod, or-?" Bob tried to ask.

"GET OUT!" Zim screamed for seemingly no reason, causing Bob to run to the other side of the ship away from Zim, "You will not steal Zim's glorious new ship! _Be gone, intruder!_ "

Bob managed to find a small escape pod and quickly got inside. He felt it being ejected and soon was drifting aimlessly through space inside the thing. After a moment he realized what a stupid knee jerk decision this had been.

Fortunately he was a smaller Irken, so he wasn't uncomfortable. Unfortunately he had no food and no way to control the pod. All he had was a distress signal so he could ask for help, except he couldn't. He was sentenced to burn by the Tallests. He could never return to Irk or else he would be killed. Like it or not, Bob had nowhere to go and soon would die alone in space.

And it had started out as such a normal day...


	2. Rescued?

_Author's Notes: I'm glad I found the time to work on this chapter. What I really like about Invader Zim (among other things) is the fact that there is a lot of world building on the show and in the comics, but you always feel like you're barely getting a glimpse of it because everything is focused on Zim who has been banished to earth, a planet that has no idea what's going on. So, with this fic and hopefully others my main focus will be expanding on the ideas that are barely glossed over in the series proper. Admittedly I don't know where this story is going, but until I figure it out let's all just enjoy the ride :)_

* * *

Chapter 2

Rescued?

Bob had been drifting in the escape pod for three days. He had no food and no way to control the pod. His PAK supplemented his body enough to keep him alive, but he knew that would only last a few weeks, and then he would begin to starve. Out of all the ways to die, it never occurred to Bob that a food service drone could starve to death.

At least the pod was warm and snug. Bob was the type of Irken that liked enclosed places. It reminded him of his tiny dark basement room back at the restaurant. He wasn't sad he would never see the restaurant again, but he did regret that he would die without purpose. Deep down, Bob had always assumed that his life would eventually amount to something. He sighed at the morose thought.

 _I'll never see Irk again._.. Bob thought miserably. _I'll never have my PAK stored in the collective history of our people. I'll die and no one will remember I was ever alive. It'll be as if I never existed. I can't believe my years of loyal yet degrading service will all amount to nothing. Then again, maybe I was too defective to warrant being stored in the memory banks anyway. Maybe this was always my destiny..._

Bob's depressing thoughts were driven away when he saw a red blinking light in front of him, and at first Bob thought it was either a glitch or his imagination. Then he saw what it was for...the hailing frequency. Someone was trying to contact him! Maybe he would be saved!

 _Or maybe they're here to take me to Judgmentia_... Bob's pessimistic thoughts warned him.

It didn't matter. He needed to be rescued, so he would do whatever it took to get out of this pod alive. Maybe he could convince the Tallests to forgive his outburst if he promised to never collect their debt to him. Bob took a deep breath to calm himself down, and then pushed the button.

"Hello, who is this?" Bob asked, unable to think of a more proper way to talk over a hailing frequency.

"We detected a general wave transmission," A deep distorted voice replied on the other end of the comm, "We are the Resisty. Are you friend or foe?"

"Hey, if you get me out of this we're definitely friends," Bob replied; knowing only an idiot said foe to a rescue ship, "I'm in an escape pod and can't maneuver on my own. Could you use a tractor beam to get me onto your ship?"

"Send us your coordinates and we'll pull you in. Welcome to the resistance, brother," The voice replied with a sense of pride Bob wasn't used to hearing in his little world of mediocrity.

 _Wait a minute, resistance? Resistance to what?_ Bob didn't know what species these people were from, but he got a sinking feeling as he remembered something important: Operation Impending Doom II. Bob didn't really keep up with current events, but he remembered the the Irken Empire was in the process of conquering half the galaxy, and would probably have the other half by the end of the next stellar cycle. What if these Resisty things hated Irkens? Oh, he was so dead. Again.

* * *

"And he definitely said friend?" Lard Nar asked Spleenk as another Resisty member used the tractor beam on the pod.

"Yep," Spleenk replied with a crooked yet unassuming smile, "I'm pretty sure it's a new recruit. We should bring him to the bridge so we can welcome him."

"Good idea, Spleenk," Lard Nar nodded approvingly, and the rest of the bridge crew smiled and nodded.

The Resisty were made up of mostly civilians, and while Lard Nar was the captain and the most qualified to build weapons he still relied on friendlier faces like Spleenk and Shloonktapooxis to keep morale up among the rest of the crew. He just hoped whoever they brought on board today had at least some knowledge of either weapons, military tactics, or the Irken Empire. They needed more intelligent beings in the Resisty.

"Sir, the pod has been brought on board and the single crew member is in our custody," Ixane said over the comm system, "Lard Nar sir, I would suggest-"

"Bring our new ally up to the bridge," Lard Nar cut her off; feeling confident and in a hurry to appraise their new comrade.

"Um, but sir, I don't think that's a good idea," Ixane replied in a hesitant tone.

"Nonsense! I want to meet him," Lard Nar replied jovially yet insistently.

"Um...Yes sir..." Ixane replied as if she were holding a dirty sock away from her body, "We'll be right up."

The transmission cut off, and Lard Nar turned his head from one end of the room to the other to ensure everyone was performing their duties without complication. He wanted to make a good first impression on the new recruit since that would likely guarantee his cooperation. Then again if this individual was from a race that had been destroyed by the Irkens then they probably had nowhere else to go anyway. Lard Nar sighed when he thought about how many people aboard his ship were the last of their entire species in the universe. The protection of so many vulnerable beings was a hefty responsibility on Lard Nar, and the Resisty's vow to save more races from the Irken Empire weighed heavily on his hearts.

The door opened and Lard Nar saw his purple-cloaked crew member Ixane enter the room. Everyone's eyes (and other sight appendages) nearly bugged out however when they saw what she had with her; an Irken.

"Ixane! What is the meaning of this!?" Lard Nar shouted, and the Irken surprisingly ducked his head at the sound of the screaming.

"Hey, don't blame me! _You_ told me to bring him to the bridge!" Ixane snapped; never one to take criticism lightly.

"Spleenk! You said this guy was an ally!" Lard Nar yelled at his third in command, "Why didn't you check for a biosignature?"

"I, uh...I don't know how," Spleenk replied sheepishly.

"Aww," The rest of the crew chorused sympathetically.

Bob meanwhile looked around nervously at where he was. There were so many alien species here, and not one of them was Irken. He didn't even recognize most of these things because Bob worked at an Irken-only establishment. He did, however, recognize that the captain was a Vortian, and that fact terrified him.

Vortians were smart, disciplined, and had every reason to hate the Irken Empire. The Irkens had converted Vort into a military research prison and only kept useful Vortians alive. Over half the population had been killed when Invader Larb weakened their defenses and the armada swept in and attacked. This particular Vortian seemed to wear the old uniform of an interstellar attack cruiser's captain, and the horns on his head were huge; a sign of vitality on Vort. This combination of observations meant he not only had motive to kill Irkens, but the means to as well.

"You! Irken!" Lard Nar barked at Bob.

Bob stood at attention. Oh crud, the Vortian was addressing him directly. He was gonna die for sure.

"Y-Yes, captain?" Bob stammered; trying to be respectful in hopes of earning a quicker death or maybe even being spared.

"What are you doing in this sector of space?" Lard Nar asked; his gaze hard and scrutinizing.

"Uh, my escape pod was launched from an invader's ship," Bob replied, but then stiffened when he realized how incriminating that sounded, "Uh, I mean, the Tallests put me in that ship! No, wait, I mean-!"

" _Silence_!" The Vortian captain screeched, and Bob stood up as straight as his warped back would allow, "State your name and rank, Irken scum."

"Table-headed service drone Bob, sir!" Bob replied in clipped tones as he saluted the Vortian, but then wondered if it was appropriate to salute an inferior life form.

"Service drone?" Lard Nar asked incredulously, "So, you're a civilian, or at least the closest thing to a civilian that Irk has."

"Yes sir, I quit my job and insulted the Tallest, so they sentenced me to be launched into a star to die," Bob explained, not knowing how Vortians felt about legal proceedings or job quitters, "I escaped burning to death, but then I was trapped in a life pod with no navigation. I would have starved if you didn't save me. Um, thank you, um, sir."

"Ooh, I got an idea!" Spleenk suddenly shouted, and Bob cringed at the excited tone knowing when an Irken had that tone it meant pain for the victim, "Let's keep him!"

"Are you _insane_?" Ixane asked Spleenk caustically, "That's an Irken! They're evil! If we keep him on board this ship he'll tell his superiors where we are and then we'll all be vaporized! We should just shoot him and rip off his PAK. It'll be quick and we won't have to worry about the armada."

Lard Nar and Bob both watched the crew members fight, though for very different reasons. Bob wanted to figure out how to save his own skin. Lard Nar wanted to hear both arguments to see which one was the most logically sound.

"But he's just a tiny Irken," Spleenk pointed out, "And he works in the service industry. How dangerous can he be?"

"You'd be surprised," A three headed alien in a pink jumpsuit piped up.

"Captain, m-may I speak?" Bob asked while there was an opening in the conversation.

Lard Nar gave him an icy glare and Bob feared he would say no, but then the Vortian nodded curtly; awaiting whatever defense Bob would present.

"I just want to point out that if I told the armada where I was, they would just kill me too," Bob told him as he fiddled with his hands nervously, "The Tallest want me to die, but I don't want to die. I have no place on Irk anymore, sir. If you let me stay, I'll do whatever job you want me to do. I will be a loyal member of your resistance, and help you fight against...um, what are you fighting against exactly?"

"The Irken Empire," Lard Nar replied flatly.

"Oh, crap..." Bob muttered as he put his hand on his forehead, "Um, okay. That's kind of a problem. I can't fight against my own people, but my people rejected me. You guys want to kill me, but I don't want to die. Um...Maybe you could drop me off at the nearest rest stop planet?"

"No," Lard Nar shot down his request, "You know one of our meeting point locations now. We cannot allow you to leave this ship. Ixane, take him to the brig. We need to discuss our options."

Bob shook with fear as he was led away by the cloaked figure that had brought him in. This was way more intrigue than Bob had ever expected to see in his mundane little life. The Tallests sentencing him to burn to death. Meeting the craziest invader to ever live. Creatures from across the universe banding together to quash his own people. Being taken as a prisoner of war. His only hope for survival being the betrayal of all he was programmed to hold dear. Could it possibly get any worse?

* * *

After roughly shoving the Irken into a holding cell on the lower levels Ixane headed to the conference room. She knew that was where Lard Nar and most of the crew would go once the ship was set into orbit around that dead moon they found a few months ago. She growled when she thought about that Irken monster in the brig. Irkens were good for nothing but bringing death upon all they touched. She only hoped Lard Nar would listen to her for once and kill that loathsome parasite.

When she got to the conference room everyone else was already sitting, standing, or floating around the table. Normally food was served during a meeting like this one, but their food supply was so low that they could no longer afford to serve anything more than once every few of the ship's day cycles. Ixane took her place sitting between Marj, the vomiting green blob alien whose species she couldn't pronounce, and Bonksy, the three headed Baldin.

"Thank you all for gathering here today," Lard Nar greeted everyone with warm professionalism, "As some of you know, we have captured an Irken-"

"An Irken!?" A yellow blob interrupted Lard Nar, " _We're all gonna die_!"

Several more crew members started screaming and running around the table like a bomb was about to land on them, and Lard Nar facepalmed before shouting to call for calm.

"Now, now, there's no need to be alarmed," Lard Nar assured his crew, "The Irken is in the brig and is currently not a threat to us."

"Yeah, he said he was a friend," Shloonktapooxis, a floating triangular alien, added with an oblivious grin.

"Yeah, I think we should let him stay with us," Spleenk suggested, "Think about it, if we have our very own Irken then we can learn all sorts of juicy gossip about their world. Oh, and I guess learn how to destroy them or something."

"Don't listen to him, Captain!" Ixane shouted argumentatively, "I don't care how low ranking that Irken is! They download military training from birth, and their race is programmed for conquest. Even a nobody like our prisoner will want glory for himself, and if he thinks it will please his Tallest to kill us he will probably take us all out in some suicide mission or something. After all, he already stated he has nothing to live for, therefore he has nothing to lose."

"I see," Lard Nar nodded without adding an opinion, "Does anyone else have anything to say on the matter? Shloonktapooxis?"

"So...He's low ranking?" Shloonktapooxis asked Ixane.

"Yes, he is a service drone with a flat head," Ixane informed him.

"And...Why does he have nothing to live for?" Shloonktapooxis inquired.

"His Tallests sentenced him to die," Ixane explained as she crossed her arms and stared at the floating dark purple second in command, "He didn't say why, and for all we know he could be lying."

"Uh huh," Shloonktapooxis pondered, "I guess he could be dangerous, but then again he sounds kinda wimpy."

"I think Spleenk has the right idea," Brian, a brain controlling a mech suit, interjected, "Having an insider working for the Resisty would really aid us in our goal of destroying the Empire. Not to mention the credibility we'd have. If even the Irkens take us seriously then we must be a real threat to them."

"The drone indicated he would not betray the Irkens," Lard Nar informed Brian, "We can't trust him to give us honest information, and feeding another crew member was already going to be a struggle even before we knew he belonged to our sworn enemies. Still, he showed more respect than any other Irken I've ever met. The drone seems desperate to save his own life, and he doesn't seem to pose an immediate threat."

"You're not seriously considering letting him stay here, are you?" Ixane challenged the captain, "Sir, he's an _Irken_ , and he might be a spy!"

"Are you familiar with the Irken rules of conquest?" Lard Nar asked Ixane intently, and she shook her head no, "According to their laws regarding the capture of their enemies, anyone that is captured during a time of war becomes a prisoner of the enemy, and anything done to said prisoner is completely legal. If any one of us was captured by an Irken, we would probably be tortured, humiliated, enslaved, and killed. If we execute the drone the Irkens will consider it just another casualty of their conquest and never give it another thought. If we kill him we'll get away with it without any reprisals from the Irkens."

"So we are going to execute him?" Ixane asked hopefully.

"No," Lard Nar replied heavily, and held up a hand to stop her protests, "Like I said, if we were captured we would be killed. I ask you my brothers and sisters, are we Irken scum? Are we no better than they are? I've thought about this carefully, and if we kill the prisoner then we will have become everything we hate about our enemy. We will be nothing more than soulless efficient war machines, and I would like to think of us as much more than that. So Spleenk, you win again. We're keeping the drone here with us."

"As what, may I ask?" Ixane asked through a clenched jaw.

"What else? A service drone," Lard Nar replied with finality, "This case is settled. I thank you all for your input, and now that we've heard new business is there anything regarding old business we need to discuss?"

"Um, yeah," Shloonktapooxis piped up, "I would like to restate my case for renaming our organization the Pirate Monkeys."

"Denied," Lard Nar replied for the millionth time since they finalized their name as the Resisty, "Now everyone, dismissed!"

* * *

Bob sat alone in his cell and stared at the electrified energy that coursed through the physical bars that kept him trapped in the cold metallic room. He was wearing a restraining device akin to a straight jacket and sitting under a cot that was too high for him to reach. The cell was clearly made for a bigger prisoner, and Bob wondered if that caped resistance member put him in a cell like this on purpose to make him less comfortable.

Bob's memories flashed before his eyes as he tried to think of something nice to make him forget where he was. There weren't too many nice moments. He remembered being programmed in the smeetery for food service. He remembered his first table, which had been white with loose shackles he was expected to grow into. He remembered his second table, the steel one he was finally given when it became clear he would never grow into the white table.

There were some good memories in there sprinkled among the misery and crummy customers. He remembered the time someone let a Hoppilus loose in the restaurant and it took hours to retrieve it. They were such docile little animals, and Bob kind of wondered what it would be like to have a pet of his own like that. He couldn't afford it though, and due to never leaving the restaurant he didn't really get to see animals in person very often.

He also remembered one time when Tallest Spork came to the restaurant and demanded a puppet show from a couple of his invaders. That had been a good day, because Bob got to see the puppet show too. Normally he only got to watch sports on the big screen, so puppets was a nice change. Of course no one knew he was watching the puppet show because he hid under a customer's booth, but no one seemed to notice he was playing hooky so it all worked out.

Bob sighed when he looked around and remembered he was in some dirty prison cell on board some filthy alien ship. Did this ship have a name? He didn't recall anyone mentioning it. He also wondered if he should ask someone what the captain's name was. He was sure someone mentioned it, but he wasn't paying attention before. Maybe if he learned it that would help him. Bob shook his head of that idea. Nothing would help him now.

"Hey Irken!" A loud annoying voice suddenly shouted, causing Bob to jump from being surprised.

Bob looked and saw there was a floating triangle thing right in front of his cell. The levitation explained why Bob didn't hear him coming, but that smile bespoke of danger and it caused Bob to feel himself well up with unshed tears. On Irk a smile was a sign of aggression and intimidation. That was why so many doomsday weapons and dangerous chemicals were stamped with a smiley face; to warn others of their deadly capabilities.

"Good news, Irken! You're being released," Shloonktapooxis announced happily, "Lard Nar says you can have your own room on deck 12 as long as you stay away from restricted areas. Oh, and you get your own little keycard so you can lock and unlock the door. Isn't technology great?"

"Room?" Bob asked dumbly; unable to comprehend what was happening, "Um, who is Lard Nar? Is he the captain?"

"Yeah, he's great," Shloonktapooxis replied; either unaware of Bob's discomfort or purposefully ignoring it, "We had a big meeting about you, with a big table and lots of arguing and everything! Lard Nar decided you can stay here as long as you work for us. You should probably let Lard Nar know what kind of work you did before we found you so you don't get a job you're bad at. Oh, you need some help out of that restraint jacket?"

"Yes sir," Bob replied timidly, looking up at the much larger floating smiley creature.

Shloonktapooxis used a sharp point at the bottom of his body to snip the locks of the jacket, and Bob barely moved as it fell uselessly to the floor. Shloonktapooxis kept smiling at Bob, and Bob kept quiet just to make sure he didn't offend this strange being.

Shloonktapooxis led Bob to an elevator and they stood there together waiting for the thing to take them to deck 12. As they waited for their floor Shloonktapooxis hummed along with the cheesy music as if he didn't have a care in the world. Bob shifted on his feet a few times but otherwise did nothing to draw attention to himself from the odd Resisty member.

Finally they made it to the room, and Shloonktapooxis used his sharp tip to dig around in a fold in his body until he found what he was looking for, and handed Bob a keycard for his room. Bob was surprised that the object would just stick to the sharp metal-looking tip, but took the keycard without comment so he wouldn't upset the alien. His impromptu guide bid him goodbye and floated back to the elevator. Bob went inside the room, and gasped at what he saw.

This room was big; motel room big. It had a couch against the far wall, a bed to the right, a small screen to the left for communications and entertainment, and a heavy table at the end of the bed that Bob could never carry on his head no matter how hard he tried. Everything looked so plush and comfortable. Then Bob remembered. This was a Vort ship, and the Vortians were almost hedonistic in their demand for absolute comfort whether they were working or relaxing. That was one reason why planet Vort got the contract to build the Massive; Irk's flagship.

Bob took a few deep breaths as he absorbed this new information. On the one hand he was now a slave to the Resisty. They would probably demean and belittle him, but then again Irkens did that to him all the time. Bob was now a servant to inferiors, but he was also living like an Irken at least three times his height. Truth be told the room wasn't actually luxurious, but to a poor lowly drone like Bob it felt like a palace. He jumped up onto the bed and allowed himself to melt into the squeezy-foam material and soft covers.

Since he had a moment, Bob decided to use his PAK's vast database to learn more about the alien that had escorted him to his room. He called up the image from his memory and searched.

 **Species: Gloogapoogxian. Average Lifespan: 20 Irken years. Average Height: Mid-Size. Threat Level: Minimal. Notes: Gloogapoogxians are from a planet formerly known as Shmulpoxis 7. Was conquered during Operation Impending Doom II by Invader Reft. All life was removed during the organic sweep. A malfunction during the organic sweep caused the planet's core to implode and the terrestrial crust to be splintered into millions of useless fragments. Gloogapoogxians were described by Reft as beings with high levels of happiness, magnetic control over their environment to the extent that it applied to their own bodies, and low IQs. Status: Extinct.**

Bob was relieved to see that the alien came from a race of weak happy creatures. He was also relieved there would be no floating reinforcements from his home planet. Bob also began to realize something, he was probably going to be one of the last Irkens to ever get a chance to see a real Gloogapoogxian. They were dead, and that Resisty member was the very last of his kind. Bob, being an Irken, didn't know whether that information was sad or cool.


	3. First Day on The Job

_Author's Notes: This chapter is short, but I think I managed to pack enough in there to keep things interesting. Writing about different fictional alien species reminds me of the Star Trek novels I used to read when I was a teenager. I've always thought that combining imagination, nature, and science leads to so many cool possibilities. I also wanted to show how a sheltered Irken like Bob might react when dealing with diversity for the first time, the ups and the downs. I hope you all enjoy reading this chapter, and I've read your reviews on this fic and I just want to say thank you all for being so supportive of this little experiment :)_

* * *

Chapter 3

First Day on The Job

Bob heard a soft knocking sound while he was trying to sleep. At first he thought it was just space debris knocking against his escape pod. After spending so much time in that pod it was only natural for asteroids and junk to eventually collide with the darn thing.

"Bob!" A voice called out to him, "Hey Bob!" Another voice, "Are you okay, Bob?" A third voice.

Bob then woke up fully, and remembered that he was aboard the Resisty's main battleship. He hurried to answer the door, afraid of angering the strange and most likely dangerous aliens. When he opened the door he saw the large three headed alien with the peach skin, blonde head fuzz, and purple bodysuit.

"Hi, Bob," The head to the left greeted, "Hope you're hungry," The head to the right added, "I brought you some breakfast," The middle head beamed with pride as the creature presented the tray to the Irken.

"You...brought food to me?" Bob asked in confusion, "But I'm a slave. Why would you serve me?"

"Because you need it," The middle head replied with a look of saddened confusion, "Don't you want your food?" The left head asked, "It's a secret family recipe for Graald. I think you'll like it," The right head explained.

Bob looked at the food on the tray. It was a dull yellow colored slop in a bowl that looked like someone had already digested it. A bubble popped, splattering a few drips of the concoction onto the alien's arms. The three-headed alien continued to look expectantly with all six of its cyan eyes, and even though the food was probably poison Bob still felt compelled to appease the large creature for some reason.

"Thank you for the food," Bob said politely as he took the tray, "I don't know why you're doing this, but I appreciate it."

"No problem!" All three heads exclaimed happily, "I know you have a long day ahead," The left head said cheerfully, "So I made you this map," The right head said as the creature gave Bob a piece of paper.

Bob eyed the rolled up piece of paper with skepticism. What alien species still used paper for anything other than decorative work? The Resisty, Bob realized, must have some pretty idiotic life forms aboard if basic technology eluded them. He saw other members of the rag tag group using data pads, so why did this big pink thing use paper like some kind of braindead squish monster?

"There's also a list on the back for all the stuff you have to do today," The middle head informed Bob, "It's mostly routine chores since the captain doesn't know what kind of special skills you might have."

"Oh, I don't have any special skills," Bob lamented, "I'm just a food service drone. Well, I guess now I'm an alien slave drone."

"Try the Graald," The right head insisted when it saw Bob wasn't eating.

Bob gulped, but took the spoon and decided it was now or never. If they poisoned him then at least he wouldn't have long to regret the decision. Bob blew on the hot oozing liquid and carefully took a bite. He swallowed, and then his face lit up as he realized he actually liked it. He started scooping up more of the weird stew, and the three heads beamed with joy.

"Yep, my family sure knew their food," The middle head nodded in satisfaction, "If you want the recipe I can write it down for you."

"I don't actually know how to cook," Bob admitted sheepishly, "I only know how to serve the food."

"That's fine. I'll teach you," The left head suggested.

"Um, pardon me, but you keep referring to yourself as _I_ , but clearly there are three of you," Bob pointed out, "What gives?"

"There's only one of me," The middle head replied matter-of-factly, "I guess having three heads is a bit odd to some species, but I need them to store the different parts of my brain," "Not to mention a way to separate my three stomach systems," The right head added.

"There is so much I want to ask you," Bob said in awe, "But I guess I'll start with your name."

"Oh, that one's easy. I'm Bonksy," The middle head smiled.

"Cool. So, Bonksy, are you male or female?" Bob asked.

"No," The right head replied, "My species has 54 sexes, which leads to a wide variety of reproductive methods and genetic outcomes. I don't think my sex has a term in Irken."

"Oh, um, okay," Bob blushed a deeper shade of green as he tried to not stare at Bonksy too long, "So, what's my first assignment."

"You're going to be dusting Marj's room," The left head told him, "She has first shift, so you should have all the time you need to get the job done."

"Oh, alright. I'll get right on it," Bob replied dutifully, "Right after I finish this Glaarb."

" _Graald_ ," Bonksy corrected him.

"Heh heh," Bob ducked his head timidly as he gingerly took another bite; never taking his eyes off Bonksy despite trying not to stare.

Bonksy stayed with Bob for a while talking about nothing in particular. Bob felt safe around this alien despite their large size. Bonksy was just so friendly it was hard not to like them. When Bob eventually finished his meal Bonksy took the bowl and tray with them before they left. Bob felt so nice after their visit that he actually waved goodbye to them as they headed out the door.

Bob knew he had to hurry to get to work, but like most Irkens he was good at multitasking. As he walked to the elevator he looked up Bonky's species and planet based off the photo he had surreptitiously taken while they were talking. He really wanted to know what he was dealing with, and that meant knowing every species on this ship and what they considered acceptable.

 **Species: Baldin. Average Lifespan: 300 Irken years. Average Height: Tall. Threat Level: Somewhat. Notes: Baldin were mobile sentient plant life that inhabited a jungle environment with high humidity and pink and purple foliage. Their appearance varied in color, amount of head fibers, number of heads, and color of eyes. They always had two arms and two legs. Their technology level was primitive at best and until Invader Blount took over they had no knowledge of the existence of life beyond their own planet. The Baldin home world now serves as a prison planet for war criminals. All plant life was extinguished. Invader Blount noted that the Baldin were a race that was very altruistic and very protective of their young. Attacking their young usually resulted in injury or death for ground troops. Status: Extinct.**

* * *

Bob had spent hours cleaning up the first room he was assigned. The place was _covered_ in pink slime and filth! All he had been asked to do was dust, but he just couldn't let this go. If anyone inspected his work he wanted them to know they could count on him to do a good job. Bob had wiped away the slime, vacuumed, dusted, made the pillow (it was not a bed, it was a pillow), and placed fallen books back on their shelves. When he was done Bob felt accomplished.

Just as Bob was turning to leave the door opened, and in came a green slug creature with fluffy orange hair on its head and pink slime drooling from its mouth. Well, at least Bob knew where the drool came from now.

"Hello, you must be Marj," Bob greeted her in a friendly manner, "I just finished up with your room. I hope it is cleaned to your satisfaction."

Marj's eyes nearly bugged out of her head when she saw the sparkly clean room, which was saying something considering they already looked bulgy, and she slowly turned back to Bob. If Bob expected her to be happy, he was sorely mistaken.

" _AAAH! AAAAH! AAAAH!_ " Marj suddenly started shrieking for all she was worth, and Bob feared she was upset because he was an Irken and he was in her room.

"No, please don't be afraid!" Bob shouted over her screaming, "I won't hurt you, I promise!"

Suddenly a foul odor emitted from the slug beast, and she continued to scream at the top of her...whatever breathing organ she used. Bob held his nearly invisible nose hole in disgust at the smell and tried to think of a way to calm the alien that seemed to be screaming for no reason. Before he could think of anything though, the door opened and Lard Nar came storming in.

"What's going on?" Lard Nar demanded, and Bob cringed while Marj continued to shriek, "Answer me!"

"I don't know what's wrong, sir!" Bob shouted almost pleadingly, "Make her stop!"

Lard Nar huffed angrily and then went over to a panel in the wall of Marj's room. He pulled out an odd stone carved case that had buttons that looked like they were filled with many different colors of smoke. Bob had never seen such a strangely beautiful device, and he couldn't even guess what it might be for.

Lard Nar sat on Marj's pillow and started pressing down on the smoky buttons, and the smoke came out of holes in the case; causing the room to stink! For some reason that seemed to calm Marj down, and she even stank less, not that it mattered with Lard Nar stinking up the room himself with that weird smoke machine.

"Marj says you trashed her room and stole her food," Lard Nar suddenly said to Bob, "What is the matter with you, Irken?"

"Um, I didn't steal any food, and I cleaned her room like it said on my list," Bob replied with his hands clasped together nervously, "I was supposed to dust Marj's room, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were!" Lard Nar replied harshly, "So where's the dust?"

"Um, I'm sorry?" Bob asked; baffled.

"You were supposed to sprinkle dust on the floor of Marj's room," Lard Nar explained impatiently, "She's a bottom feeder and she needs that dust! So, where is it?"

Bob's eyes went wide and his knees began to buckle. His whole body was shaking now. He knew that mistakes in an Irken outfit would result in severe punishment, and when his superior officer was an angry alien rebel he knew his chances of coming out of this intact were slim to none.

"I...I don't know, sir," Bob stammered as he hung his head in defeat, "Please be quick with me, captain. I tried to do good."

"Oh, _bother_ ," Lard Nar sighed as he held his forehead in his hand, "Look Irken, I'm not going to hurt you, but you need to actually read up on the duties expected of you. I'll get Spleenk to dust Marj's room for her, but if you keep messing up like this I won't tolerate it. Frankly I don't know why I'm tolerating it _now_. Anyway, your next job is to wash the bedsheets in the laundry room. Do you think you can handle that, Irken scum?"

"Yes, sir! I won't let you down this time, sir! Thank you, sir!" Bob replied quickly; relieved that he wasn't going to be shoved out the airlock this time.

Lard Nar gave one final disdainful look at the Irken prisoner before turning back to Marj and pushing a few more buttons on the smoke machine. Marj replied by puking more ooze (as if she ever stopped) and nuzzling Lard Nar with her slimy green body. Bob cringed when he saw that gross alien touching the Vortian captain, but Lard Nar just smiled at her and ruffled her orange puff of hair. He then walked up to the door and opened it.

"By the way," Lard Nar said over his shoulder before he left, "Marj communicates by smell. That thing I was using is a pheromone translator."

When Lard Nar was gone Marj looked back at Bob with a blank and unreadable expression. He meekly waved and then quickly scooted out of the room; not willing to deal with whatever feelings she might have about him at the moment.

As Bob took the elevator to the laundry room for his next task he decided to look up information on Marj's species to see if he could learn anything useful about how to keep her alive and not screaming at him.

 **Species: ?. Average Lifespan: 150 Irken years. Average Height: Varies. Threat Level: Minimal. Notes: These slug things resided on planet Bloop. Planet Bloop was conquered by Invader Spleen. The planet was mostly rock surfaces with numerous caves and flowing bodies of liquid nitrogen. When removed from the scalding hot caves the liquid nitrogen freezes. Planet Bloop is now a fully functioning space station planet with many hotels, malls, food courts, and parking garages. Invader Spleen noted that the slug things were disgusting slime-puking wastes of space with not enough redeeming intellect to be worth sparing. Tallest Red ordered several specimens captured after Tallest Purple dared him to. Status: Extinct in the wild. Many specimens survive in captivity as zoo attractions.**


	4. The Snack Raid

_Author's Notes: I just want to say thank you to everyone who is reading and supporting this fanfic. While I wouldn't go so far as to call this story popular, those who are reading it keep me motivated to keep writing and exploring the possibilities of this scenario. Writing this story is fun for me because I love to flesh out minor characters and give them a little more spotlight every now and then. Thank you for reading, and I hope you will leave a review as well :)_

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Chapter 4

The Snack Raid

Bob had worked a long night by the time he went to bed. He didn't really need to sleep, but the captain allowed it and Bob did enjoy that comfortable plush bed. He was starting to not hate being a Resisty slave as much as he thought he would. Sure, it was confusing and degrading, but at least he got a luxurious room and food that didn't melt his insides.

The thought of food made Bob think about Bonksy. He hadn't seen them again since that morning, but their visit with Bob made him begin to question certain teachings about alien life forms that had been programmed into his PAK. Bonksy was clearly primitive, maybe even stupid, but that somehow didn't make them intolerable. The Baldin native was warm, friendly, and exuded a quiet strength about them. There was something dignified in that, yet Bob had been programmed to believe that aliens weren't worthy of dignity or pity.

Of course, Bob's thoughts on Marj had not changed. Frankly he wasn't even sure if that slug beast qualified as a sentient creature, yet Lard Nar seemed so insistent on treating her with the same level of respect as the other crew members. On Irk Marj probably would've been blown up, splatted in a compactor, or sold as some sort of gross exotic animal. Bob thought that was fair. He knew his dreams that night would be filled with slime covered nightmares and terrors unknown.

* * *

The next morning Bob got up and saw that a list had been pushed under the door for him. He wondered why no one came in to fetch him, but it hardly mattered. He had a full day of chores ahead of him and he needed to get started.

Bob's first task was scrubbing the floors on decks 3-7, and the other side of the list even had a map for the storage room on deck 3. Bob hurried to the elevator, but when he got on he realized there was someone else already there. He looked up, and smiled when he saw it was only Bonksy.

"Hello, Bob," The left head greeted him warmly, "Working hard or hardly working?" The right head asked teasingly.

"Ha ha, that's funny," Bob weakly laughed, though he did actually think it was clever, "Where did you hear that one?"

"From a Plookesian weapons merchant in the Rev Sector," The right head replied, "I'm sorry I didn't come to your room," The middle head lamented, "But I didn't want to disappoint you."

"Why would your stopping by disappoint me?" Bob asked, "I like you."

" _You do?_ " All three heads asked in surprise, " _Aww, thanks Bob!_ "

"Um...You didn't answer the question," Bob reminded them.

"Oh, right. Sorry," The middle head replied sheepishly, "Well, we knew you would probably be hungry, but no one can eat today. We're almost out of food."

"Oh dear," Bob muttered worriedly, "Are we going to arrive at a trade planet soon?"

"No," Bonksy sighed ruefully, "Lard Nar has called a meeting that will begin in five hours. We're going to plan a snack raid. I suggest you be there as well in case you're needed for anything."

"A snack raid? You mean like pirates?" Bob asked; not liking where this was going.

"Not really," The left head replied as Bonksy shrugged, "We only steal from Irkens."

Bob really didn't like the sound of that, but he didn't object. He knew his continued existence was conditional. If he wanted to stay in the captain's good graces then he had to be loyal to the Resisty, even if they were stealing from his fellow Irkens. He just hoped the Resisty weren't foolish enough to try to raid a military vessel, otherwise they were all doomed.

* * *

After scrubbing decks 3 and 4 Bob realized it was almost time for the staff meeting. He wondered if he was actually welcome to attend such a thing, but Bonksy had said he should, and he was inclined to trust the three-headed alien. He nodded to himself resolutely, and then paused for a moment to appreciate the lack of weight on his head. He had spent so many years carrying drinks on his head that it still felt oddly liberating to not have to be shackled to a table.

When he arrived at the conference room most of the seats were already taken. Bob didn't know if the seats were assigned or not, so he just stood in a corner of the room so as not to disturb the higher ranking Resisty members.

He looked around at the different aliens again. There were so many. Lard Nar must've had a crew of at least 75, and most of them looked different from each other. A few of the similar species would congregate and talk in a group, but for the most part the aliens were each unique on the ship.

Bob's eyes locked for a moment with the female in the cloak, and she glared at him from behind the shadow her hood cast over her face. Bob gulped and quickly looked away. He could tell that this particular Resisty member wanted his blood, so he needed to be careful to make powerful friends among the group to stay alive. He wondered if he could make friends with the captain or the triangle guy. That Shloonktapooxis guy seemed to have a high rank around here.

Finally after 20 minutes of Bob people-watching, the captain showed up and the meeting was called to order. Bob looked at those in his immediate vicinity to see who was favored by Lard Nar. Shloonktapooxis was sitting at Lard Nar's right side, and to his left was the greenish brown guy with the four arms that saved Bob's life. He thought he remembered his name as Spleenk, but he wasn't certain.

"Brothers and sisters," Lard Nar addressed his crew, "Our food supplies are now dangerously low, and if we don't replenish our storerooms soon, well then..."

"We're all gonna die," Ixane finished for him in a flat tone of voice.

"We're gonna die?" A yellow blob thing asked, "AAAHH! We're all _doomed_!"

Everyone started screaming and panicking after the blob's raving proclamation. Lard Nar rubbed his temples, wishing just once a meeting wouldn't devolve into his followers screaming and running around like scared idiots.

"Calm down!" Lard Nar shrieked, and everyone stopped in place and looked at him, "We still have one chance to not starve out here in space. There's an Irken military outpost nearby. It's a 14 hour journey from here, and on that outpost there's a snack warehouse we can raid. Security is pretty tight. There are dozens of Irken soldiers guarding those snacks, and there's a good chance whoever is sent to raid the warehouse won't survive."

Marj let out a foul odor, and Shloonktapooxis agreed with her unspoken thought when he said "Not it!"

Those words were soon followed by a chorus of Resisty members raising their appendages and shouting "Not it!". Lard Nar grumbled under his breath. How was he supposed to command a resistance when they wouldn't even raid a snack warehouse to save their own stomachs?

"Ooh, ooh, I'll go! Pick me! _Pick meeee_!" Spleenk shouted as he jumped up and down to get Lard Nar's attention despite sitting right next to him.

"Fine, Spleenk will command the raid," Lard Nar agreed, "Now, who wants to go with him?"

Nobody volunteered.

"Oh come on! Surely at least _one_ of you is braver than Spleenk!" Lard Nar exclaimed incredulously, "Fine. I guess I'll go with him myself. If Spleenk and I don't make it, then Shloonktapooxis is in charge."

" _Nooo_!" Several Resisty members wailed.

"Um, excuse me, captain?" Bob sheepishly called out as he pushed himself against the corner and timidly raised his hand, "Permission to speak, sir?"

Lard Nard had to crane his neck to even see the little Irken cowering in the corner. He narrowed his eyes and made a sound of displeasure, but then curtly nodded; allowing Bob to speak his peace.

"Well sir, if I may be so bold," Bob began as he slowly inched his way closer to the group sitting at their conference table, "You don't need to sneak around and fight guards to get the snacks. Just trick them into teleporting the snacks onto your ship themselves. That way even if they find out the truth they'll be too embarrassed to tell anyone, and we limit the risk of fatalities."

"That is the craziest idea I've ever heard, and I work with Spleenk!" Lard Nar exclaimed critically, "How are we supposed to trick them into teleporting their _precious_ snacks to their enemies?"

"Well, does anyone here know how to hack into an Irken database?" Bob inquired.

"I do," Lard Nar replied immediately, "Why?"

"Well, just look for any delivery dates in their calendar," Bob explained, "Outposts usually store snacks that are meant to be transported to warships. Find the name of an Irken commander on the roster, and then send someone down to pretend to work for said commander. That person then convinces the guards to teleport the snacks to the cargo bay, and then we leave without any fuss. All we need is someone to play a convincing lackey to an Irken commander."

"Hm...Not bad, Irken," Lard Nar nodded approvingly, "Now who do we get to play the stooge?"

"I nominate Bob!" Spleenk shouted as he raised his hand in the air, "He's already an Irken, so they'll believe him."

"No way!" Ixane cut in, "If we let that little troll off the ship he'll use the opportunity to tell them everything! We'll all be killed!"

" _We're gonna die!_ " A hairy white and brown speckled alien shouted; causing another mini-riot.

Lard Nar banged his head against the table as Resisty members screamed and ran around again. Slavery on Vort was beginning to look pretty good right about then. Lard Nar then whistled loudly to get their attention back onto him, and once they had calmed down he glared at Ixane.

"Could you stop scaring the crew for _two minutes_!?" Lard Nar screamed at her.

"I'm just telling it like it is!" Ixane shouted defiantly, "Bob is an Irken. If we let him go he'll turn us all in. We can't trust him, and frankly he shouldn't still be alive; not after everything the Irken Empire has done to us."

"I can't b-betray you, s-s-sir," Bob replied shakily; on the verge of tears due to fear of Ixane's wrath, "I'm presumed dead. If I tell them I'm not, then t-they'll kill me. I don't really want to go down there, but if it'll keep us alive then I'll do it. I'm loyal to the Resisty cause o-one hundred p-percent."

It actually almost made Bob throw up saying that out loud. He didn't want to be totally loyal to the alien scum that treated him like chattel, but he also knew this was his life now. Unless he found a way to escape and live on his own he would have to stay with the Resisty for the rest of his life. Really though, was anywhere safe for an Irken fugitive when the universe was so close to belonging to the Irkens? Not really.

Lard Nar paused to consider Bob's words and Ixane's.

"I think we should let Bob go down there," Spleenk restated in a calmer voice this time, "He might be an Irken, but he's _our_ Irken. They don't want him, and we do."

"No we don't," Ixane interrupted.

"So we should let him know we trust him," Spleenk continued as if she hadn't said anything, "You'll get us those snacks, right Bob?"

"Yes, sir," Bob replied as he wrung his hands and waited for Lard Nar's decision.

"Well then..." Lard Nar took a moment to think about it before he said, "Alright. I'll see what I can find in the database, and if we have an opportunity to bluff them then Bob will go down there. Now Bob, is there anything you'll need for the sabotage?"

"Um, if it isn't too much trouble," Bob replied hesitantly, "I'm a flat-headed drone, so they'll probably believe me better if I'm wearing a table. Do you have one, sir?"

Lard Nar sighed wearily before turning to Spleenk and saying "Ugh, make him a table. It needs to screw into his chin so it looks like an Irken design."

"Eww, that sounds painful," Spleenk cringed.

"It is at first, but then you get used to it," Bob shrugged indifferently.

Spleenk winced in sympathy at the little Irken, but then went off to perform the task Lard Nar had given him. Soon Lard Nar dismissed the meeting, and Bob stayed behind to observe Lard Nar as he hacked into the Irken outpost's database. He had really gotten into a heap of trouble this time, but he hoped this mission would cement him as a true member of the Resisty. Maybe then he wouldn't have to fear for his life or scrub floors and toilets for the rest of his days.

* * *

Bob adjusted his table as he stood on the teleporter platform. Shloonktapooxis was at the controls ready to beam Bob down to the snacking outpost, and Bob was running his lines over in his head one more time before he went down there. He just hoped he didn't mess this up, for all their sakes.

A pink beam of light zapped Bob's molecules down to the planet below and he landed a few meters from the front gate of the snack outpost. He took a deep breath and then scuttled over to the guards blocking the door using the front-bent posture typically associated with table drones.

"Halt! Who the bloop are you?" The guard on the right demanded to know.

"My name is Torby, and I am a humble servant of General Blek," Bob replied with a well-rehearsed casualness, "The general ordered 700 ginormous boxes of snacks for his troops, and I am here to give you the proper coordinates of our cargo hold. The general was too busy and important to do it himself."

"General Blek's ship wasn't due for another two cycles," The guard on the right replied skeptically.

"I am aware, sir," Bob bent his head lower as he spoke to denote respect for his tallers, "However, due to fortuitous circumstances regarding our last organic sweep we arrived early. Please don't keep the general waiting. My head is on the line."

Bob added that last part to make it sound more convincing. That obviously did the trick because the left guard held out a tablet for Bob to type the coordinates into. He typed in the Resisty's main holding area and hoped they didn't scan for the ship's make and model before beaming the goods aboard.

"Very good then," The left guard nodded emotionlessly, "Return to your ship and we will beam the snacks momentarily. Have a productive day."

"Um, you too, sirs," Bob replied before calling to be teleported back to the ship.

Bob arrived just outside the cargo hold of the Resisty ship. He went inside to see a few crew members waiting around for the snacks. Bob held his breath, hoping that their plan actually succeeded. A few seconds later, the first box arrived on the ship and the crew members cheered. Bob let out a sigh of relief and unscrewed the table from his chin.

"Hey, Bob!" Spleenk called him over to where the boxes were being transported, "You wanna help me unload this stuff?"

"Um, okay," Bob replied cautiously before walking over to the four-armed alien.

For the first few minutes Bob and Spleenk unloaded and organized candy bars based on which species types could safely eat them. After getting into a comfortable rhythm Bob actually started looking over at Spleenk and taking note of the alien's appearance and mannerisms.

Spleenk seemed to wear a breathing apparatus on either side of his head. Bob wondered if Spleenk had gills, lungs, or some other form of breathing organ. Either way Spleenk didn't seem to breathe the same nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere that the life support systems in this Vortian ship circulated.

"Uh, Bob? Do I have something on my face?" Spleenk asked after a few minutes.

"No, why do you ask?" Bob inquired nervously.

"Because you keep looking at me," Spleenk replied in puzzlement, "Is it just because you think I look funny? It's okay if that's the reason, I just wanna know."

"Well...a little," Bob admitted contritely, "I'm sorry, sir. I've just never seen anything like you before. What even are you?"

"A Gasquiggasplorch," Spleenk replied nonchalantly.

"Seriously?" Bob asked as an invisible eyebrow raised, "I didn't even know your species was sapient, or real for that matter."

"You've heard of us?" Spleenk asked with a light smile.

"Yeah, but I'm not sure if I should say anything," Bob replied as he looked away in embarrassment.

"Say anything about what?" Spleenk asked while sorting candy bars with his four hands.

"Well...on Irk, your people are known as...the dull-witted Gasquiggasplorch," Bob admitted as his whole body flushed with embarrassment, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, so Irkens think my people were stupid," Spleenk nodded in understanding, "I get it. We're not that stupid, at least I don't think so, but I get it. Irkens are really smart, and your technology is really good. Of course you think you're better than us. I get that. Say, can Vortians eat sheffle leaves?"

"I think so," Bob replied, "So wait, you're really not mad at me for saying that? Wow, you are such a forgiving guy. I mean, twice now you've stuck your neck out for me, and I don't even know you. Why would you save someone like me?"

"I dunno," Spleenk shrugged, "I guess when we found you in that life pod, it kind of reminded me of when I first joined the Resisty. I remember being alone, scared, and stuck in a tiny cramped thing in outer space with no hope of survival. I guess I felt sorry for you."

"You left your planet in an escape pod?" Bob asked curiously.

"No, my story is a lot weirder than that," Spleenk chuckled while they worked, "It all started on a sunny day and I was in big skool, that's where the older kids went, and I was the mascot for my big skool's bouncy ball team. We were the Hookabooka Stinky Flies, and I wore the Stree the Stinky Fly costume complete with jet packs, a big head to fit over my real head, and insulated materials that made 200 degrees feel like 400 degrees. Now that I think about it, why did we make the suits so hot?"

" _Stinky fly_?" Bob asked in disgust, "That sounds awful!"

"Oh no, it was my dream!" Spleenk exclaimed enthusiastically, "I always wanted to be Stree the Stinky Fly, and I was out on the empty field before game day going over my super dance moves. It was going to be my first big game, and I was so excited. That game never happened though. As I was hopping around and getting ready for my big fly-by finale there was a massive earthquake that shook everything and caused fissures to form everywhere! I was terrified by that alone, but then I saw the clouds begin to darken and red beams of light coming down to smite everything on the horizon! It was the end of the world!"

"The organic sweep," Bob whispered as he looked up at the gesticulating alien.

"Yeah, but at the time nobody knew that," Spleenk explained, "No one knew the Irkens were coming or even what they were. Nobody knew what it was, and I was alone on a bouncy ball field looking up at the angry sky and trying to maintain my balance as the planet fell apart all around me. With no other ideas to try, I activated my mascot suit's jet packs and took off into the sky, hoping against all hope that I wouldn't be struck down by a vengeful cloud."

"Those weren't clouds, they were ships," Bob corrected him.

"Well I know that _now_ ," Spleenk retorted before continuing, "Anyway, I flew into the sky, but my jet packs couldn't get as far as the upper atmosphere. I thought I would run out of fuel and fall to my death. Then I saw a small ship flying around, so I snuck up behind it, and grabbed it. That was kind of stupid now that I think about it. If I hadn't been wearing the costume the afterburners would've fried me. As it was, it was very hot and uncomfortable. Anyway, I hung onto to that ship until we were out of the atmosphere and into deep space. I was so tired and hot. I was close to passing out, so I let go."

"How did you survive that?" Bob asked incredulously.

"Fortunately there was an emergency breathing apparatus in the mascot head," Spleenk explained, "Unfortunately once the armada left I could see the ruins of my world far away from me, and there were no ships anywhere around once the Irkens were gone. I used my jet packs to direct myself away from the planet, but there was nowhere to go. I was tired, hungry, and adrift in space. I thought for sure that I was a goner."

"So what happened?" Bob asked intently as he leaned in to hear the rest of the story.

"The last thing I saw before I passed out was a large grey vessel," Spleenk told him, "I thought it was more alien invaders there to finish the job. I was ready to just let go then, so I passed out to avoid suffering. When I woke up I was in a bright white room with a small horned creature tending my injuries. That was how I met Lard Nar and joined the Resisty. I'll never forget the relief I felt at knowing someone was looking out for me, and I wanted to be able to give that feeling to someone else. I guess that's why I want you to be one of us so much."

Spleenk smiled down at Bob then, and Bob couldn't help but smile back. For someone from a species purported to be among the stupidest ever to exist, Spleenk seemed to have a simple wisdom about him that Bob found unusual.


End file.
